Chapter 28
28
I look up in to the eyes of a dark-haired angel. At least that’s what my brain says as my eyes stutter from his dark hair to his lovely eyes and down to the hand around my shoulder. Nope, not an angel. He’s the human with the voice of an angel from my choir. Teague. I blink several times.
The arm around my shoulders gives a warning squeeze and I nod slowly, the light dawning. “Ah, yes. It was so good of you to invite me.” I try to keep the question out of my voice, and then turn to look at Augustine. “I was invited.”
Augustine’s face has frozen, his eyes flicking from Teague’s face to mine, to the arm around my shoulder.
“Here, step back here in the aisle to catch your balance.” He drops his arm from around my shoulder as I step back.
“Ah, yes, this is much better, thank you.” And it is. I love being further away from Augustine.
“Will you be joining us on our walk up to the main house, then?” Augustine sounds supremely displeased at this turn of events, and I have the evil impulse to fist pump.
“I’m afraid not,” Teague says in his lilting Irish brogue. “I invited Helena down here for business and not for pleasure.”
The way he says the last word…it strums through me like a guitar chord. I get the impression he’s needling Augustine on purpose.
It’s a direct hit. “I did not authorize?—”
“Relax, Augustine.”
I raise my eyebrows at Teague’s use of Kendall’s father’s first name. He uses it as an equal and that is fascinating. “Helena and I are in choir together. We have a concert next week, and we’re going to practice our parts. This is far enough away not to bother the other guests.”
I snap my eyes to Augustine’s face and nod fervently.
“I thought Helena said she needs to meet with Clara?”
Shit. “I did. I do. I mean, I still will. I thought Teague wasn’t here—like he forgot—so I was making new plans.”
Again his eyes dart from me to Teague. I’m not sure exactly what he thinks leaving me alone with Teague is going to do. It’s his son that has the habit of accosting me in public. “All our candidates are supposed to be chaperoned.”
Chaperoned? Here we are again with the antiquated customs.
“For safety,” he says, noticing my face. I’m not good at hiding my thoughts, apparently.
“Ah. Well, you can see she’s perfectly safe with me,” Teague says. “I’ll walk her back up.” He turns to me, and his face is frank and business-like. “I assume you warmed up? I thought we’d start with Lux Arumque.” He holds up a black choir folder.
This seems to sell it. Augustine turns on his heel and walks away without a backward glance.
“I thought we’d go over the Coda,” Teague says to me, as we watch him go. Then motions for me to follow him back into the barn.
“I…thank you?” I say as we step back into the shadows. I’m not sure how much he senses he saved me from a supremely uncomfortable situation.
“Lecherous old git,” Teague says, eyeing the retreating form. “Might as well come in and stay for a bit. I think he’ll notice if we don’t follow through.”
“I…okay.” It doesn’t look like I have much choice. I follow Teague under a stone arch on the opposite side of the barn from the stalls, and through a wooden door I assume is the feed room.
Instead, what greets me is a lavish, old world library. There’s no other word for it. Shelves line the three wood-paneled walls, leaving only the fourth wall open. Leaded glass squares cover that one from floor to ceiling. Overstuffed leather couches and chairs sit in comfortable clusters on gorgeous hand-wrought rugs and an honest to God gas fireplace crackles in the corner opposite a gigantic wooden desk.
Teague walks over to the desk and plops down on the thickly velveted chair before kicking his feet up on the desk. I’m still flummoxed, and I spin slowly, taking in all the books and knickknacks on the shelves. It’s…glorious. Like someone reached into my brain and pulled out my definition of a cozy space and rendered it in real life, then stuck it in a barn in Ireland.
“Not a feed room, then.” I say to myself, wandering over to the nearest shelf and peering at the books. This row is old, old medical texts. Old photography books fill the shelf under it, and I run my fingers over the spines, noting the dog-eared pages and bookmarks. This library isn’t just for show, someone uses it.
Coming back to myself, I remember that I’m not alone. I straighten, and turn to find Teague watching me, clear amusement written on his face. “Not a feed room,” he confirms, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. I’m mesmerized. I’ve only ever seen him look serious. That small movement transforms his face with roguish, boyish charm.
As if I need to have another reason to stare at him, now I’m wondering if his angelic facade is hiding a more playful, bad-boy interior.
“How is…how is this in a barn ?” I ask, then decide to use manners as well. “And also, thank you for saving me.”
There’s a weird light in his eyes as he watches me approach the deep blue velvet chair across from his desk and drop into it. “Did I though?”
I quirk an eyebrow. It seems an existential question, fraught with a tension I don’t understand.
“Now you’re stuck here. With me. And these books. Nary an internet signal, television, or distraction in sight.” At my confused look, he motions to my phone, which I have clutched in my hand like a weapon.
“Ah. I just had it out in case…” I can’t make my heart stop galloping. Because while I think he’s trying to be funny, his energy is causing my pulse to race. Chill, Helena. He’s just another human. Teague is in my choir. He’s a waiter. He’s not a complete stranger.
Teague’s eyebrow quirks. “In case…”
I take a deep breath. “I was going to fake a phone call to get out of walking up with Augustine.” Or maybe I would have chucked it at his head and run if he tried anything funny. But I don’t say that part.
“Ah, well, then I’m sorry I crashed in on your well thought-out plan.” The smirk is back. “The damsel did not, in fact, need saving.”
I roll my eyes and give a small laugh. It’s clear he’s teasing me. “Oh yes, now you’ve caused me to waste all the time I spent creating an elaborate scheme. I guess I’ll have to send back the wheelbarrow and water buffalo.”
A smile breaks out on his face. I’ve amused him, and it makes my insides turn to sunshine. “How did you find this place?” I ask. “I thought we weren’t allowed out by ourselves?”
Amusement flickers across his face. “Maybe you aren’t, but I am.” He puts his feet down and sits up in the chair, leaning his elbows on the desk as if I’ve suddenly just become much more interesting to him.
“Because I’m a girl?”
He shrugs, clearly not as bothered as I am with the gendered rules.
I roll my eyes.
The grin he flashes me is a conspirator’s. “But even if it’s against the rules, isn’t it a little thrilling to be naughty? Don’t tell me you’ve never explored somewhere you shouldn’t.” Yep. Definitely a bit of a bad boy on the inside.
Teague is legitimately, objectively, one of the most beautiful humans I’ve ever seen. His dark hair, olive skin, and lively hazel eyes are…well, they are the things of magazine covers. Long sooty lashes. High cheekbones, and a mouth that…
I’m staring.
I catch myself just as Teague clocks it too. His lips twitch just before I avert my gaze. “I am not normally the sort to break and enter,” I say with a small cough. Sinking further into the chair, I adopt an air of nonchalance. I can play this off. He’s here, just like me. We’re equals.
“What are you doing in here?” I motion to the room around us.
“Hiding out, same as you.”
That relaxes me. “Oh, okay. Well, that sounds okay then.”
“A good girl, through and through, I can tell.” His eyes burn briefly as he takes in my high collar. I have a distinct, intense impression that he’s imagining what is beneath it. That he’s turned on by the challenge of not seeing exposed skin. “But even good girls can have fun now and again. Should we re-arrange everything in here and see if they notice? Go through the desk drawers?”
“No, don’t!” I squeal as he reaches for the drawer to his left. “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
“What if I do?” The smirk does it for me. My heart thrums in my chest.
“I can’t give them any reason to send my home.” I force my eyes away from his to the surrounding shelves, and then finally to the choir folder on the desk. He really brought Lux Arumque down here with him to practice. “You do what you want. I’m going to study music.”
I snatch up the folder, and open it on my lap.
He sighs. “Fine, be responsible.”
I look up and tap my chin with the pencil that had been nestled inside the folder. “Don’t blame me. This was your cover story.”
He sits forward, reaching for the choir folder and snatching it out of my hands before settling back again. “Not an excuse. That is why I am hiding away. I wasn't joking about practicing.”
He sorts around in the center drawer a bit, finds another pencil, and then stands to come sit in the opposing high-backed chair. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“Practice,” he says as if I'm slow.
“Together?”
“That's the general idea,” he says, his brogue rippling through my body like warm caramel. “You see, when you sing in a choir?—”
“Shut up, smart ass,” I say, playfully punching his arm.
“Here in Ireland, we call them ijits.” He doesn’t look even one iota sorry. And it is so much better in here with him than up in the main house with Augustine and Kendall.
“Fine, we can practice.” It sounds absolutely mortifying and terrible, but I'm feeling the odd need to impress this gorgeous dark-haired boy. To look brave. To look like the thought of singing in front of him doesn't make me want to throw up. I clear my throat. “Where do you want to start?”
I swear his eyes flick down to the collar of my shirt again, but it's gone in an instant. He opens the piece to the middle, a place where each part has a rising and falling melody stacked over another. “The harmonies here are complicated.”
It's immediately clear that he doesn't need to practice. Using a piano app on his phone, we each work slowly through the parts several times until I know mine like the back of my hand. I've lost some of the shyness, but I’m still quiet.
“You need better breath support, even while practicing,” Teague motions to my midriff. “May I?”
“May you what?” I ask. At his quirked brow, I nod, still confused.
“Breathe from here,” he says, laying a hand across my stomach.
Immediately, I stop breathing altogether. His hand spans my entire front. My brain is stuck on repeat. He’s touching me. He’s touching me. The man of the angelic voice and face is touching me.
“You have to breathe for it to work,” he chuckles, clearly not understanding that his nearness and touch is short circuiting everything.
I drag in a breath.
“Lower. Make my hand move,” he commands.
Heat floods my body. He’s firm, and commanding in the absolute sexiest way, and I can’t help but instantly wonder if he’s this bossy…other places. I breathe in again, and when his hand rises with my breath, he gives me a wicked look.
“Good girl.”
I’m dying, and it takes everything in me not to hyperventilate. I’m vibrating all over, but pull in a few more deep breaths. Each time I breathe into his hand, and I feel it solid against my stomach, I wonder what it would feel like if he just…slid it upwards. Or downwards. Sadly, he sits back in his own chair, and we pick back up like nothing ultra-intense just occurred.
He’s right. I'm singing out louder with those deeper breaths. Our voices mingle and rise and reverberate off the dark grained wood and it's...
“Glorious,” I say, pressing my hands to my cheeks. “The music,” I clarify, the buzz subsiding enough for me to realize I'm staring at him again.
“Indeed, this is a lovely piece,” he says, his eyes steady on mine. Intense.
Silence falls. I shift on the chair. “I, ah, probably should go find Clara. She's going to wonder what happened to me.”
He nods. “I'll walk you up.”
“You don't have to,” I demure, gathering my things. The sunlight has definitely got on in the day, and my stomach gives a growl.
“I do. I promised. And I'm starving too. Singing always gives me an appetite.”
I smile. “So you’re hungry all the time? Aren't you studying music?”
“Ah, well, much to the chagrin of my father, yes. But I'm also studying International Law. Slowly.”
“I'm studying Political Science. Or well, you guys call it PPE here.” He ushers me through the door into the barn and we wave to the horse caregiver, tossing flakes of hay into the stalls.
“It seems we have much in common. I'm surprised you aren't studying music. You seem to like it.”
Our steps fall easily into rhythm. “I can't afford to stay here without the scholarship, and I don't think they are open to me switching." I think about how much emphasis has been placed on my ambition, and its ties to All Saints. "Plus, I still believe in what I want to do. I just also love singing."
“I hope that whatever happens, you don't let it stop you from looking for the things that bring you joy.” He's looking up at the house when he says it.
A chill races down my spine. His comment is so foreboding, as if he knows something I don’t. Maybe they tell the male initiates everything, and it’s just us “stupid females” left in the dark. Wouldn’t want to stress our sensibilities.
As we approach the circle drive in the front, the figure lounging against the stone fountain straightens. It’s not Augustine. I squint. Those damn shoulders. I would know them in the dark at this point. Kendall glowers at us as we walk up the cobble drive.
“Shit,” I say. “I must have done something wrong.”
“Nah, he’s a territorial apple that doesn’t fall far from the tree, no matter how much he thinks otherwise.”
I cast a sideways look at Teague. He sounds like he knows Kendall. And his father. “Are you two friends?”
Teague gives one cut of his head. “Colleagues.”
“Colleagues? I wasn’t aware that Kendall had a job. Other than micromanaging my life, I mean.”
Teague snorts. “Okay, colleagues is a strong term. We’re roommates.”
“I…I cannot even imagine that.” I stop and turn to look at Teague. “Aren’t you an upperclassman?”
“Technically, we’re suite-mates . We don’t share a room. Just common areas.” He says it the way you talk about having to live with an animal you’re allergic to.
“I thought you were in upperclassman housing—” My foot catches on the cobbles, and I tip forward slightly, Teague’s hands flying out to steady my arms. It is not sweet. It is not sweet. Just because he’s got that whole fallen angel thing going on?—
“You okay?” Teague crouches down a little, allowing me to regain my feet.
“Yeah, just an idiot who can’t walk on this driveway in these shoes. Nothing compared to your day to day misery, I’m sure.”
“Kendall? Oh he’s just a delight. Never in a bad mood. Severely misunderstood.”
“What the fuck are you doing here, Teague?” Kendall growls, playing right into the joke about his bad temper.
The joke lands, and Teague shares a small secret smile with me before glancing up at Kendall. A manic gleam has enters his eyes. His voice is soft and just for me when he says, “It’s true I’m in dire straights these days for good company. The only joy in life I have at the moment—present company excluded—is pissing Kendall off.”
“I…okay?” I’m taken aback at the change in topics.
“And this,” his eyes sparkle, “is a most excellent opportunity.”
“I’m not following.”
“Ah. But you will . Come on. Let’s get you back to Cara.”
“Clara,” I correct him, but then gasp. Instead of offering me his arm, his hand grabs mine and tugs. No, not just any hand hold. Not like “Oh hello friend, right this way, don’t fall on the cobbles.” His arm slides down mine and his fingers interlace with mine. It’s a lover’s handhold. It’s sexy, and electric, and my mind goes blank with static.
“Just making sure Helena here gets back to the house safely,” he says to Kendall as we approach.
He leans towards me, eyes sparkling with mischief. Out of pure animal instinct, I return the lean. I’m completely unsure of what is happening, but my body? My body is completely on board with everything having to do with this gorgeous, gorgeous man.
“This ought to really fuck with his head,” Teague murmurs in my ear before turning and tugging on me so that we’re walking hand in hand right in front of Kendall, up the steps and through the front door.